Oct 18th 2017

Feel like a worm of the Universe, feel, like dust…feel worthless, feel negated…suffer from existential nausea…feel deflated. Got a good paying, teaching job in Cambodia worth 1000$. But I am in the poverty of meeting travel and visa funds. I listened to a lot of self motivational thoughts about attracting positive vibrations of the Universe. But they yielded to nothing. I was not even able to win a single lottery prize. Folks at my home are also not willing to help me. I hopes are sunk and my ego is devastated. I do not know how life will go on. I even turned to the Devil and wrote poetry of praise for him. But all my efforts became futile. The Devil does not dance to the whims and fancies of man. I consider myself as a failed writer. But the ambition to write is a passion. Why does not the universe vibrate positively for me? I look for signs from the sky. I have seen many V’s. I read them as a sign of victory. Am I meant to be disastrous failure? Why is the myth of Sisyphus recurring in my life? My consciousness is a cigarette but trashed in the ashtray. I am feeling so lonesome in my life. My lovers seem to have deserted me. Should I turn to Christ? Or should I soak my own sorrows in existential dread. I contemplate suicide. Get drunk and take some poison. May be there are sunnier days to come. May be there’s poetry to the meaning of life. Yes, life is Camus’ the absurd. I am handed a job in a platter and yet I can’t take it. Why does this happen to me? Instead of being a worm of the universe why can’t I be a glow worm. I am fed up of quacks, astrologers and psychics. I can’t bear to face the torment of my own angst. Yes, Sartre says that we should existentially be responsible for the actions we take. But I can’t? Why God Christ have you forsaken me. ELOI ELOI LAMA SABACHITNAI? Why oh God have you forsaken me? For being a writer, I need to travel and see the world. Motivational speakers have crippled my life. I was taken by a ride by my girl friend in Texas who said she sent documents pertaining to her house for me to sell. Then she asked me to write to the courier company and they asked me shelve out 850$. To my sad fate, I realized it was a scam. To think of the poetry I have written for her. All for the meaning of love and in the end fate put its chains and I realized that I was duped. I feel sad that my Whatsapp girl friend is online but she is not texting me. Is there a true God? Or has religion evolved and become textual after being animistic. My Christian faith is so wavering. Yes, I love Christ more than anything else. I feel so sorry to have turned to the Devil. Is there a Philosophy in the world that will explain my life’s existence? When can I evolve the true essence of writing? I can’t mediate. I spent sleepless nights having restless dreams. Has the passion for life gone out of me? Why do I have to dance to the wishes of wife and mother? I hate them both. They won’t shell out the dough to reach Cambodia. Where will I turn to help? I am praying to my dead father please help me. It’s after so many years that I am getting a job. Why is fate being a cruel storm?

Advertisements

Sept. 21st 2017

Woke up early dreaming…I can’t recollect my dream. Today was a holiday in school so I spent my time lazing in bed till 10 AM. Wanted to read a book was too lazy. Saw a dead dog on the streets all flattened like pastry. The poor thing must have been run over. Thought of writing an essay on various forms of art, like naturalism, impressionism, cubism, surrealism and postmodernism. I have been thinking what it is to be an art of writing? How does art become writing? It’s an aesthetic, philosophical and literary problem. Nietzsche has said art occurs: when the Dionysian and the Apollonian elements merge. He has used music as a metaphor for it. The Dionysian elements comprise of rhythm, beat and ecstasy and the Apollonian elements consist of melody and harmony. How am I to find new avant garde forms? How can I find a new form for Streams of Consciousness? Joyce wrote Ulysses as an epic covering 12hrs of life in 800 pages. Can an epic be made into seconds of time? The mind is a freely floating streams of consciousness machine. While reading ancient Greek Philosophy, I became fascinated by the mystic and occult of Orphic religions. I wonder how they participated in Bacchanalian revels. Greek Gods are unethical and immoral. The ancient Greeks have revealed that all Art lies in transgression. Sodomy, fornication and adulteries are musical symphonies. Adam and Eve’s eating of the fruit was figurative as art. Got a letter from my girl friend in Texas. She was explaining how her ex. boy is abusing her physically and emotionally. I told her to take police help. I have suggested to her that she could take me to Texas or she sell her house in Malaysia and come and settle down with me in Kerala. I thought of writing poetry but could come up with no good ideas. I have a fascination for synesthetic metaphors that is metaphors which identify unlike things like sound and color. I would like to write doped. Dope now is scarcely available.

Sept 20th 2017

Had a date today at LuLu Mall in Cochin. The timing was 12PM. I started out early at 7 because the place is faraway. We met each other at the food court. On seeing her, all my erotic dreams faded away. We started talking on many things, Reincarnation, existentialism, counseling. She was very knowledgeable. I thought that she will give me her phone number but she did not. She apparently had a husband who physically and emotionally abused her. She earns her income by giving tuitions. Finally we had lunch. I had chicken byriani while she being a veg. had veg. byriani. I thought that the relationship will turn out into a sexual adventure but it was sheerly Platonic. Finally she dropped me on the bus stand with a handshake.

Rendezvous

I came to the departure terminal with my wife and kid and sat down beside gate 28. All of a sudden, a man sitting beside me shouted: ‘hello Anand and Susan’. I became glum, sullen and moody and ruminative. There was an attractive bar beside the lounge called ‘Heaven’s Paradise’. I nourished the thoughts of having some booze. But then my thoughts sank. I could be straightaway taken to the psychiatric hospital. The bastard in the lounge was my psychiatrist. I put my tongue on my lips and licked in vain. What an obscene coincidence is this?

Dusk

The sky
Is Picasso’s Brush…
Gleaming gold and pink…
I watch eclipsed in a dream…
Conversing silently about
Life’s journey through art….
The fading sun is
Like Chopin’s rendition…
The clouds look
Like surreal scratches ….
Van Gogh paints
The sky in
Impressionistic
Pulchritude ….
Dusk is a dream
Of the heart…
A lover’s paradise
To clasp hands…
Time moves like
An echo of music…
The clouds have broken into
Streams of colors ….
Night is set in
Like a magician’s
Black wand.

Tarot Reader

The Tarot reader was in his room when a youth approached him asked him to do a reading…He shuffled the cards and got the tower…The youth asked: ‘what’s the card?’ He replied: ‘I am afraid it’s the tower and a man falling from it’. ‘Ha’ Ha’ Ha’ …laughed the youth hysterically and drew the stiletto into the man’s belly killing him instantly. ‘Yes revenge is sweet for having slept with my mother’…thought the youth.